


Five Steps From Hell

by MadOldTHAImer



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Silence de La Mer (2004), Les Misérables - All Media Types, The Pianist (2002)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadOldTHAImer/pseuds/MadOldTHAImer
Summary: Set during WWII, a young woman starts her experiences in the war strong and sure of what she wants. How will the world crumble around her with the passage of time? Characters and some of the plot are loose adaptations of PotO, but most of the plot deviates significantly from PotO; it is more of a smorgasbord of many different works as seen in the foreword.





	1. Foreword

There are many elements within this story, including:  
Two Steps From Hell  
Europa, Europa  
The Pianist  
The Nazi Hunters  
The Exception  
Le Silence de la Mer  
Krigerens Hjerte  
Valkyrie  
In Tranzit  
The Diary of Anne Frank  
Suite Francaise  
The Things We Did for Love  
Der Erlkonig  
Titanic  
Les Miserables  
The Phantom of the Opera


	2. End of the Beginning

**Chapter 2: The End of the Beginning**

"Gustav! Play it again!"

"Yea, Gustav. We could certainly use some spirits right now."

Gustav Guheldi smiled as he raised his violin once more. He seemed to be about fifty years of age, with his cold grey eyes and short mousse-colored hair speckled with grey. His face had sharp features but many wrinkles, and chin had stubbles of grey hair poking out like whiskers. "Of course. Gladly."

In the one lone booth of the bar sat three tired, worn-out men, wearing old versions of the Norwegian uniform. The rest of the bar was empty. The atmosphere within the bar had a dark, deep, and melancholy aura to it, which all but vanished the moment he began playing. Beside him was a young woman, about twenty years of age with long, luscious blond curls and sapphire-blue eyes; her delightful figure was marred by her look of exasperation that she gave him.

"Papa, must I sing again?" she moaned at her father. "We've been here well past the time we were allowed. We've done nothing but play the national anthem and folk songs over and over again. We should leave. They-" she motioned towards the soldiers with her shoulder, "need to go back out there and fight."

"Kristina, don't say that. These men have been fighting off the Nazis for nearly two months now. They could use the rest and relaxation right now."

Kristina solemnly nodded, not wanting to argue further with her father, and cleared her voice, ready to sing again.

"Ja, vi elsker dette landet, som det stiger frem…"

She stopped as the bartender left his position and marched straight to the booth.

"Alright, bar's closed!" the bartender slammed the last mug of beer before the group of soldiers. "I've kept this open far too long for you all. It is nearly midnight. Now pay up." The soldiers were not too happy and complained loudly against it. From the tones of their voices, they were clearly drunk. Pitifully. Gustav and Kristina watched in silence as the bartender argued with the soldiers to pay for the beer and leave. Inwardly, Kristina felt relieved at this turn of events.

With the last soldier finally out the door and having wiped the booth clean, the bartender turned to Gustav. "Thank you so much Gustav for sticking around," he started, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the rag he was carrying. "It has been a long time since I had any customers that stayed out this long. I am truly-"

Gustav held his hand out before him in protest. "It's fine. It's fine, Frank. It has always been my pleasure to play for more people." He avoided looking at Kristina, who was staring daggers at him. They had played almost non-stop for fifteen hours. "Oh, and haven't you been wiping the booth with that rag of yours?"

"Huh? What?" Frank jumped in shock and stopped wiping his forehead. "Many thanks, Gustav. I didn't even notice. Anyways, I'm running a late. My wife and children are expecting me, and the children never fall asleep if I'm not there to kiss them goodnight. Can I trust you to close the bar down after you finish packing up?" he pleaded.

"Of course," Gustav sighed wearily. "Glad to help."

Frank beamed. "Thank you so much Gustav! Here is the front key," he dug the brass key out of his pocket and handed it to Gustav, "and don't forget to return it to me when you report tomorrow morning!"

"I will, I will."

"Well, then, I must be off. Goodbye!" And with that, Herr Frank Larsen was out the door. Kristina waited until she could no longer hear his fast footsteps on the cobblestone pavement before bending down to count the coins in the jar next to where her father and her sat on stage.

"One, two, five… ten… forty krones," Kristina mumbled. "And then we have to give 30% of all our earnings to Herr Larsen." She turned to her father, who was busy polishing his violin with utmost care. "Papa, how will we make ends meet? Herr Larsen can barely afford to pay us, and these tips are not worth much at all. I cannot see why we still stay here in Alesund, when we could potentially do better in the cities. Maybe Stockholm, or Oslo?"

Gustav placed his violin back into its case, his grey eyes lost and deep in thought.

"I am afraid," he said softly, as he gently closed the lid to his violin and put on his trenchcoat. "I am afraid of moving anywhere from here, Kristina. As I told you before, I fear that  _they_ will defeat Norway, and possibly even the whole world. And then we will be rendered homeless, or perhaps even worse. I think it is much better to have a home now, than to be without it regardless of what we choose to do."

"Why do you say that, papa?" she tugged on his sleeve earnestly. "We are good people. We are useful. What could they possibly do to us?"

Gustav shook his head and resumed fastening the buttons of his jacket. "I cannot say, Kristina. Now come, let us head home." He picked up his violin case and beckoned Kristina to follow him out of the bar. After locking the bar with the little brass key, the duo walked out into the cold, clear night sky in relative silence. It would have been a waste of time and energy, after all, to talk while walking for such a long distance. In the faraway distance, the echo of bombs and machine gun fire could be heard resonating throughout the city.

"Well, that about does it," Gustav exhaled deeply as they finally neared their small cottage, putting his case down onto the cool ground as he fumbled with his own set of keys.

"Here, let me," Kristina offered. "Papa, you go get the mail." She held her hand out for the keys, which Gustav handed over gratefully. She effortlessly unlocked the door and opened it.

Their home was small, dingy, and musty, with the lingering odour of fish. There was just two rooms; one for them to sleep in, and one that served as not only the washroom but also as the kitchen and living room. The fireplace, long since rendered inactive, contained just a few pieces of wood. Not enough to keep the two warm.

Gustav set his coat on the rack next to the door and exhaled once more. His fingers ran over the one envelope that had been in the mailbox. "We… no,  _you_  have mail."

"Is it news on Georg? Or perhaps Otto?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately not."

Kristina frowned, confused on the envelope still within her father's hands. "Then who is it from?"

"Who else could it be from? de la Croix, that is who!" He shook his head in disapproval, as if to get rid of the foul name he had just belted out. "Never mind him though. Come, Kristina. Let us hear what Norway has to say about the war." Kristina nodded mutely, retrieved some blankets from their room, and sat down on the mat next to the fireplace. Gustav went over to the tiny radio just above the fireplace and switched it on, and joined Kristina on the ground. Together, the two of them bundled each other up in the blankets and huddled before the empty fireplace.

"Bzzz… Bzzz…" the radio was not giving any type of response.

"Damn signal," Gustav growled, getting up again and retrieving the small contraption. He resettled back on the mat and whacked the radio a few times.

"Bzz… Bzz- We regret to inform-bzz-wegians that effective to-bzz- 10th of June, Norway has officially sur-bzz- to Naz-bzz-lease remain calm, and -bzz- -larmed by the soldiers who will soon be -bzz- sett-"

 _Click._  Gustav switched off the radio and let out a huge sigh.

"So that is it? All their work for nothing?" Kristina's voice was deadly calm. She looked at her father, who had closed his eyes. "Instead of fighting against them, those men we kept entertained were drinking in a bar. What if they made the difference between defeat and victory?"

"Stop it, Kristina."

"What if all our soldiers were like that? No wonder Norway has fallen-"

"ENOUGH, Kristina."

"WHAT ELSE IS THERE LEFT IN NORWAY THEN?" Kristina had risen now and towered over her father. His grey eyes shot open and met her gaze; he dared not to move. Kristina too was breathing heavily; she realized that she had stepped rather out of bounds, but was too in the moment to take it back.

Several moments passed while Kristina caught her breath and listened to her own voice of thought.  _Maybe papa has a reason._

"So, why were those soldiers in the bar?" she asked, her volume finally under control. She sat down so as to no longer be above her father.

"They… they were my friends," Gustav lamented. "You have never met them before. We were young and reckless, looking for adventure. We threw ourselves as mercenaries into World War I. You may not have noticed, but many of them still bear the injuries of that time."

Now that Kristina thought about it further, several of them did seem like they were missing digits, maybe even limbs.

"As you can probably tell by now," he continued, "we were all shaken by our experiences by the war and wanted nothing more. Although," his wrinkled face broke into a smile for once, "I do not regret having met your mother in France." His face fell again. "They on the other hand want nothing more than to live out their days in peace. You do not understand how much they do not want to fight. You wouldn't know. But when you do, you'll realize it yourself."

"Oh," Kristina turned away, ashamed at her outburst. "But how are they going to live out their days in peace now?"

"That's beyond the point. Now," he handed the envelope to Kristina, "why don't you read what your  _lover_ wrote to you." He spoke his name as if it were contagious. "Do tell me what he has written."

"Papa, why must you be so harsh on him? You've only met him once before."

Gustav frowned. "Yes, that one time several years back. Not the best impression, if I remember correctly. Poor fool tried to make a show of himself in front of you. He'll bring nothing but sorrow and pain for you. Trust me, I learned it the hard way."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Never mind," he sighed and shook his head. "Just read your letter already."

"Very well," she huffed. Kristina tore the pristine envelope open and removed the parchment-colored paper within. Several krones also fell out of the envelope.

"You must tell him to stop sending you these krones. I feel utterly humiliated by that."

"It is not my fault," Kristina argued, smoothing out the letter. "Here, let me read it…"

And so she read it, devoid of all emotion.

_My dearest Kristina,_

_Every day my heart yearns to see you once more. But I fear that it will soon not be easy. You may not know this, but France is currently still being attacked by the Nazis; it is only a matter of time before we fall. I do not know if this letter will reach you before Norway has fallen-I hear they are highly adamant on censoring mail._

_I know that regardless, you will not be safe Norway, especially not with your father still around. How are Georg and Otto? Are they still alive and actively interested in all you do? Personally, I hope they aren't- don't tell them I said that, they most surely would have my head!- as they and your father will surely oppose to what I am about to propose to you._

_I implore you to consider joining me in my cottage, where I will protect you to the best of my efforts. I have sent you some krones along with this letter for your reply; I will personally arrange for your safe passage to my home. Feel free to write back at any time._

_Don't be afraid and keep strong. Remember, I love you with all my heart and will do what is best for you._

_Best,_

_-Raoul de la Croix_

"Well, goddamn."

* * *

Ooh… who are Otto and Georg? Where did Raoul come from? Find out next chapter.

Reviews and comments greatly appreciated.


	3. Memories

**Chapter 2: Memories**

"Well, goddamn."

Kristina looked up. Her father was staring at her. She suddenly realized that she was hunched over the piece of parchment and hastily straightened her back. His eyes were sad and almost accusatory.

"You read what he wrote to you. You are not safe here in Norway." He shot a dirty look at the letter. "You really are thinking about accepting his offer, are you not?" When Kristina remained silent, Gustav let out a huge snort. "This spoiled brat. I still do not understand how he knows so much about our family."

Kristina pouted. "Papa, we have been at this already! He is from a well-off family who have the means to do -things- like this!" She blushed slightly at the word "thing", but let the matter slide quickly. "But Papa… what did he mean by 'with your father still around'?" Her eyes shot up to her father, wanting answers.

Gustav sighed and held up his hand. "No. Not today Kristina. I am much too tired. Let us prepare for the next day. Go on. Take your bath. I'll go make us something to eat."

"Put Papa…"

"Please, Kristina. I need some time alone to think."

xxx

Gustav watched her figure slowly rise and fall beside him. Even in her sleep, Kristina was smiling almost playfully.  _I wish I could be as carefree as she is_ , Gustav thought.  _And as well-liked as those tysks. But if they were to know..._

He shook his head instinctively.  _No! She is my only hope left._

_I will protect her all I can._

Xxx

"Papa? Who are those people in that fancy wagon? Can we go talk to them?"

A young boy with mousse-brown hair asked as a state-of-the-art automobile cruised right by them on the empty road. Holding his hand was an older man, who was also holding the hand of another, brown-haired boy with glasses who otherwise looked physically identical to the boy. This second boy was holding the hands of a slightly younger girl.

"Not now, Otto. We should go to the market as fast as we can," the boy with glasses urged. He gave an earnest tug on the older man's arm. "Isn't that right, Papa?"

"They are just the rich," the older man replied nonchalantly.

The boy with glasses then shook the girl's arm. "And you, Kristina? Do you think we should bother with those people?"

She shook her head.

"See Otto? That's two on one!"

"No fair, Georg!" Otto protested. "Papa hasn't had his say yet!" He eyed enviously at the vehicle, which was just visible on the horizon. "I wish we had that! Our lives would be so much easier if we had that."

"Now, now, Otto. We must be grateful for what we have." Gustav stopped and leaned over Otto. "From what I hear, these rich families are not very close at all in terms of family. We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"I could do without Georg and Kristina," Otto snided.

"Hey!" Georg shot a scathing glance at his brother. "We're twins, and we stick together, no matter what! Especially now that Mama is dead. Oh-" He turned to Kristina, who was beginning to sniffle.

"See? You made Kristina cry!" Otto puffed his chest out in satisfaction. "All you do is tear our family apart Georg, admit it!"

"Aww, come here Kristina." Gustav got up and let go of Otto's hand, instead offering it to the little girl. "It's all right."

Kristina shook her head and refused his hand, instead turning to Georg. Gustav's hand dropped limply, his face crestfallen by this rejection.

Georg swiftly picked up Kristina and put her on his neck, shaking his head. "Seriously, Papa, you know she doesn't like you as much as Mama and I, isn't that right?" He turned his head slightly at the little girl, who, despite her tears, cracked a small smile. "Now let us make haste Papa, Otto, we must hurry to the market, or else they'll run out of good fish!"

"Oh come on!" Otto argued as the three resumed their walk. "Papa, you're going to let Georg talk to you like that? He's younger than you!"

"And you are the same," Gustav pointed out. "You too have the nerve to say such nasty words about your own brother. And you are just ten years old!" Gustav feigned surprise. "If I really wanted to, I would have severely beat you two up. But then, what is the point as long as you two learn your lessons on your own?" He stopped walking suddenly, his body tensing up slightly.

The two twins stopped as well and instinctively looked up at Gustav.

"What is it, Papa?" Georg asked.

"See for yourself," Gustav nudged upwards.

The vehicle was bellowing a huge stream of black smoke from the hood, and four people stood nearby, watching the smoke rise.

"Still want the fancy car, Otto?" Georg joked.

Otto shook his head.

"Let's help them." Gustav let go of both sons' hands and ran up to the car. The boys followed, Georg keeping up with Otto despite also carrying Kristina.

As they neared, it became obvious to Gustav that these people did not own the vehicle, based on the way that a family of three, apparently, stood off to the side while a young man frantically tried to douse the smoke with a fire extinguisher from the vehicle.

"Hello. Is there anything wrong?" Gustav asked the family.

The father, or so it seemed shook his head. His grip on his wife and young son tightened, eyes filled with mistrust.

"Reste en arrière!" he threatened. "Nous n'avons pas d'argent!"

_French?_ "Oh? Tu parle français?" he responded in their native tongue.

The man's eyes widened as the twins, who had up to this point had been hidden from his view by Gustav, came into focus.

"Ahh- Ah! Good monsieur, I apologize for my behaviour," he quickly corrected himself. "I was just here with my wife and son to go sightseeing around Norway when our automobile suddenly stopped working." He shot a look at the vehicle.

Almost as if it knew, the vehicle suddenly subsided in releasing smoke.

"And now we are waiting for the next vehicle to pick us up. They run this type of service every hour if someone is out on a tour, you know."

"Ah. Well… that is… unfortunate. Surely just walking would not hurt though, would it? Alesund is not too far from here. That is where my children and I are going. And you, Monsieur…?"

"Ack!" The older man's eyes widened. "I am so sorry! De la Croix," he offered his hand. "Viscount de la Croix."

Gustav raised one eyebrow, not yet accepting the offer of a handshake. "Oh? I was under the assumption that the term Viscount was no longer being used in France?"

De la Croix shrugged. "Family tradition. What can I say?"

"And these two?"

"Ah, them?" he turned to face the woman and child, as if just realizing that they were there. His face remained steady though; the woman was as still as a statue, while the boy- maybe eight years at most- eyed cautiously at Georg, Otto, and Kristina. "My lovely wife and son, that is all. Now then," he returned to face Gustav. He couldn't help but notice that de la Croix had withdrawn his hand. "You said you knew the way to Alesund?"

"Yes," Gustav replied stiffly. "I can show you the way, and possibly to the lodge where the maps and long distance devices can be used at your disposal. Those are rather useless without money, of course."

"Ah, money." De la Croix fumbled around with his coat pocket. "That is of no concern to me. Shall we?"

xxx

Kristina bolted awake, her breath fast and unsteady. She looked at her father, who was snoring gently beside her. It had been three months, three months since she had last had that dream- no, recurring memory. Too long.

She got up and lit a candle beside her, shuffling slowly to her drawer and opened it. Stacks and stacks of Raoul's letters littered its contents. She realized a long time ago that she never truly got to know Raoul. That morning was the only time they spent time in contact with each other; his family parted ways the moment they reached Alesund.

Not even two years after, worldwide depression hit. Gustav struggled to make ends meet with what little he could earn as a violinist; Georg and Otto, at twelve years of age, did what they could do to survive, scavenging on scrap metal lying around on the streets. And Kristina? Only eight, she was singing alongside her father, appealing to the hearts of empty-pocketed men and women to earn money. Not like they had any money to go around either.

For an entire year, the Guheldis survived on almost nothing but stale bread and the occasional lone sardine.

Thus, it came as a complete surprise when the Guheldis suddenly got mail perhaps one month into the depression. Addressed to Kristina, no doubt. The letters were from Raoul.

Georg and Otto were understandably shocked at this, and Gustav was most displeased at de la Croix for even considering to contact them once again. However, it soon became clear that Raoul's letters were contained in precious envelopes of substantial value, which could be sold to earn the family extra revenue. Without the de la Croix's letters, the Guheldis would have surely starved to death.

Kristina sighed, placing her hand over one stack of letters wrapped with string. Raoul had written 128 letters, almost once a month, each one trying to contact her and begin conversation with her. She undid one string and pulled out the topmost letter. The date had long since vanished-lost in the sold envelopes- and the writing was smeared with time, but the message was still clear. It was also one of the first that he had written.

_To Kristina;_

_How are you? Do you still remember me, Raoul de la Croix? The little boy whose family was caught up in the automobile mishap? Even after all this time, I have not forgotten about you. I want to get to know you further, and I beg for you to reply to my letter._

_Sincerely,_

_Raoul_

Kristina placed the letter down again, shaking her head in disbelief. Eleven years, eleven years of time and effort had been placed on all these letters, for a girl who had received the letters, but never responded to them. Over time, the letters became, in her opinion, slightly more insulting, as Raoul suggested that she learn writing. Perhaps he had thought that Gustav would read these letters to her?

She suppressed a chuckle as she replaced the letter back into the drawer. No, her father would never do that, not when he protected her so dearly! Still, she had to admit that Raoul was steadfast in his love for her. Maybe it was due to her inexperience when it comes to love, but she couldn't help but daydream about this mysterious-man by now, surely- who still wrote to her even after all this time.

_Maybe, just maybe,_ she thought, slowly returning back to bed,  _once this war is over and Georg and Otto are back, I will reconsider._

_And not until Norway is free again._

xxx

She was walking, walking fervently down a never-ending corridor, and she didn't know why.  _What is going on? Where is Papa? Where are Georg and Otto?_

She stopped and looked down at herself, and noticed that she was wearing a tattered nurse's uniform, hastily patched in many places. On her right hand were two rings, one of silver, the other of gold.

_Where did I get these from?_

She resumed walking with a renewed sense of urgency.  _Where is everyone? Why am I wearing this? Where does this corridor lead to?_

She squinted her eyes and suddenly noticed that the corridor's left walls were lined with photographs. She slowed down to examined them.

Pictures of two distinct babies, one light blonde, one dark blonde with mismatched eyes, glared at her menacingly. Some of the photos had one of five distinguishable men-she wasn't sure of which nation- looking at her sadly; there while others had rows of rows of men, women, and children with the Star of David on their sleeves, clearly defeated and waiting for something. And even more, two mousse-haired men… Georg and Otto, badly beaten up and screaming in agony at her.

Each following photo was more gruesome than the last. The babies' skins turned deathly white, the men began gaining scars and losing features, the rows of people subsiding to a scant few people. She wanted to look away and focus straight ahead, but found that she couldn't.

And then, after long last, the distant end of the corridor approached her. Finally, she found that she could turn her face forward.

She wished she hadn't.

"Looking for someone?"

It was one of the men from the photos, his general physique identical to that of the photo. Headlocked in the man's arms was… her father!

"Papa!" she cried out.

"N-NO! Krist- run! RUN!" her father choked out, as the man constricted her father further and further.

Without even a slight hesitation, she turned her back on her father…

_CRACK._

Xxx

Kristina bolted upright, panting heavily. The room was brightly lit- morning had come. But she could not sense the presence of her father; nor could she smell the fresh eggs that he always made for them every day. She turned on the bed, expecting to see Gustav.

And yet her father was not there.

"Papa!"


	4. All is Hell

**Chapter 3: All is Hell**

“Papa?”

She remained motionless on the mat, replaying the events of her dream over and over. How quickly she had abandoned her father in the dream, in the face of danger! Kristina shivered slightly at the notion. She, who had bad-mouthed her father and his acquaintances only several hours before for lacking a spine, could not even handle the threat of a single man!

_ I must become stronger. _

With the newfound resolve, she found the strength to finally arise from the mat. The entire house was silent, with only her soft footsteps echoing throughout. She quickly noticed, however, that one of Raoul’s letters was on the mantel atop of the fireplace. As she got closer, she noted that holding the letter in place was the brass key that her father was to return to Mr. Larsen today. 

_ He must have moved the key up there,  _ Kristina thought.  _ Perhaps he has written something for me?  _

Kristina reached up to get the letter, as the mantle was a good foot taller than she. As she predicted, the back of Raoul’s letter contained handwriting--most definitely her father’s, she could recognize how he wrote his g’s anywhere-- and almost greedily read the contents.

There was not much content to begin with.

_ Kristina; _

_ I am off on an errand of utmost importance right now. I may not return for a couple of days. Can you return this key to Mr. Larsen? I do not care too much of what you do while I am gone, but I do hope you make the right choices. _

_ I love you, _

_ Papa _

Kristina was instantly put off by her father’s word choices. 

_ I do not care too much of what you do? Papa, you don’t really care what happens to me, do you not? _ She thought glumly.  _ It has always been about Georg and Otto.  _ She shook her head.  _ No! I must not think like that. Of course Papa is going to worry more about them when they are away at war! But what about me? Why am I not fighting with them? _

Of course, even Kristina knew why she could not. As a woman, it would not seem proper to be in actual service. And, quite frankly, her father needed her more than ever as an emotional rock more than ever, now with the twins gone.

With her conscious cleared, Kristina got dressed and headed to Mr. Larsen’s bar. She met him at the front door, waiting for her expectedly.

“Herr Larsen! How have you been?” Kristina tried her hardest to keep up her facade of a smile as she handed the brass key over. “I hope I did not arrive too late. My Papa and I do not have a clock at home, and it has always been he who kept track of time.” It was not that much of a lie; they did own a clock, albeit it had long since run dry on battery.

“It is no big deal,” Larsen sighed, taking the key and unlocking the front door. “Just so you know, it is only 10:00, so you are hardly late. However, I do not mean to be rude, but where is your father today?”

She shrugged. “I do not know myself. He left me a note that simply told me to return that key to you. Do you have anything to eat, by any chance? I have not eaten anything this morning.”

“I’ll see what I can make,” Larsen replied, opening the door. “However, I do not think we will have any customers today, seeing as the  _ tyskerne _ will most likely begin posting their men here in the upcoming days.”

Kristina frowned. This did not sound good at all. “The tyskerne will be posted here? In Alesund? Why here? Why not Oslo? Or one of the bigger cities that are surely of much more use to them?” She inwardly noted that this was the exact same argument she posed to her father just the night before. 

“ Don’t ask me.” Larsen’s voice had become slightly harsh. “Kristina, I must insist that we stop talking about this and just go along with our daily lives and hope for the best!”

Xxx

It was just as Larsen predicted. There was not a single customer who came to the bar that week. Every day, Kristina would trek up to Larsen’s bar and be expecting customers. Larsen would always welcome her with open arms, but the open door to the bar would otherwise remain untouched. People were going about their daily lives in Alesund; it was just that everyone avoided the bar. Each night, Kristina would return to her cottage, every time expecting her father or a letter from the Norwegian army about her brothers, and always being disappointed when neither failed to materialize.

On the eighth day, they finally had a customer; a tysk. 

“Good day, Herr--” Kristina began, as the soldier burst into the room.

“Heil Hitler!” he more or less shouted, raising his arm in a salute.

“Uh…  _ God morgen _ ,” Larsen hastily wiped the bar table before him clean. “How may I help you today? Would you care for som--”

“Nein, nein!” he barked. “Ich bin hier, um diese Broschüre zu veröffentlichen. Das ist alles!” Kristina looked at Larsen and shrugged; they had no idea what he said. He tacked a leaflet onto the bar’s wall with a small nail, saluted once more, and left, slamming the door behind him.

“That wa rather rude,” Larsen remarked, his face frowning in disgust. “And how he has nicked my wall too! The nerve of those tysks!”

However, Kristina was overcome with curiosity on what was tacked onto the wall. “What do you think the flyer is for?”

“I don’t know. Take it down now, won’t you?” Larsen replied. “And be sure to take that nail out too. I’m going to have to patch that hole…” He knelt down to the cupboards underneath the bar table as Kristina came up to the flyer and removed it.

“Huh…” she murmured. “It is an advertisement by the Tysks. Women of eligible race can sign up and be paid to be carriers for the  _ master race _ .” Heat began rushing to her ears. “They are currently establishing a maternity home at that old brothel house… The nerve of them!” she exclaimed. She crumbled the paper. “As if it weren’t already enough that they have taken over Norway, and now they want to take away our dignity as well?”

Larsen popped his head from underneath the bar table, a rolled-up poster in hand. “Well, that is the ways of war, Kristina. Say, I cannot seem to find my repair kit anywhere. This will have to do. Can you tack this on the wall?” He held the poster out like a stick. 

“I suppose,” she replied grudgingly. No sooner had she pinned the poster to the wall, the front door opened once again.

It was another tysk. And this one brought company.

Five more, to be specific.

“Gib mir einen Tisch und eine Runde Getränke!” he barked. 

Larsen looked at the tysk in confusion. Kristina, petrified, did the same. Neither one knew the German language; and it became even clearer, based on how the tysk’s face contorted angrily and was turning more and more red, he didn’t know theirs. 

“Can we get a table and a round of drinks?” one of his companions spoke out in an attempt to be useful.

_ French!  _ Kristina almost exhaled rapidly in relief. “Yes, yes, of course,” she answered gratefully in French. “Here, let me prepare this table first.” She hastily stuffed the flyer into the pocket of her apron and began to remove the table cover from one of the booths.

She could feel the six pairs of eyes staring daggers into her back and inwardly gulped.  _ This was not what I was expecting, _ she thought.  _ They are so intimidating, even outside of battle. How do Georg and Otto stand this? _

“Kris… Kristina,” Larsen’s low voice whimpered. “What… What do they want?”

“They just want drinks.”

“Oh! Quick, ask them what they want!”

When Kristina finished dusting the table and chairs, she turned to the six men. “ _ It is ready, you can come sit now. What do you all want to drink? _ ”

These men, in stark contrast to the flyer man’s stance, were much more casual and laid back, almost sauntering their way into the booth. 

“ _ The finest quality beer you have, thank you, _ ” the French-speaking soldier replied as all six took their seats. He was looking at Kristina as a child would with the wings of an insect.

Kristina nodded and pranced over to Larsen’s direction, shivering slightly. “They just want the best beer we have,” she translated. She shivered again. “Please be quick. I want them to have their fill and leave as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Larsen turned around and began pouring out the six glasses. With nothing better to do, Kristina watched the six men begin to talk about… something. It was clearly funny; even without drinks, all of them were smiling and laughing. It seemed as though one of them had cracked a joke. It completely countered her initial thoughts.  _ How merry they seem outside of battle! So vulnerable… _ She inwardly recoiled at her thoughts.  _ And yet I can do nothing against them even now. How useless. _

The French-speaking soldier, however… although he had joined in on his comrades’ fun, he was mostly keeping his eyes in her direction… at  _ her _ . And that unnerved her.

“Here we are,” Larsen grunted, placing the sixth and last glass on the tray and pushing them in Kristina’s direction. “Go ahead and serve them. And perhaps sing for them a tune or so. Tell me if they want anything else.”

When Kristina got to the table and gave them the drinks, she again noted how the French-speaker was again looking at her, making no effort to be subtle. 

“ _ Would you like for me to sing? _ ” she offered, trying very hard to talk to the other five men. They looked at her for a brief moment, then reached out for a drink and turned back to talking.

“ _ Thank you, mademoiselle. But I think we do not need you to exhaust your voice when my comrades have no desire, _ ” he answered, winking slightly.

She could feel her cheeks turn hot and quickly backed out, bowing her head in the process. 

_ How rude! _

Xxx

They stayed at the bar until well past midnight. Each man seemed to want a refill every five minutes, and by the time they finally left, Kristina was utterly exhausted carrying glasses back and forth between Larsen and the booth.  _ How on earth could they consume so much alcohol and become only slightly drunk? Who?! _

Even more, Kristina could not shake the thought of the French-speaking soldier. Unlike his companions, he did not order any more glasses, but continued watching her every move. His light blue eyes continued to stare at her even when he had left.

“That was quite a long one, eh?” Larsen chuckled nervously while wiping the last glass. “Those tysks really do love a good drink.” He turned to the barrels of beer behind him and tapped them, listening to the resonating notes worriedly. “I fear that they might run me out of business soon enough. Those men didn’t pay enough to keep me ready for tomorrow. No matter,” he shook his head, then turned once more to Kristina. “That one tysk though… he seems to have fallen for you, did he?”

Kristina felt her cheeks turn hot again and looked away embarrassedly. _I cannot believe it… already I am becoming smitten with him!_ She shook her head. “I… I don’t know how I feel. Maybe a little uncomfortable?” She began to wrap her fingers around one of her two braids. “Larsen, I don’t have much experience with men, or even love in general. However, the fact that he is a _tysk_ ,” she spit the word out venomously, “makes it all the worse.”

Larsen looked at her strangely. “And yet, you still blush at the thought of him. You know what? Go home. Here,” he handed out some krones to her. “This is half of what they paid me with. I want you to go home and take some rest. Hopefully they don’t come again tomorrow.”

Kristina stared at his extended arm. “But Lars--”

“No, go home! Come again tomorrow.”

Xxx

They came back. And they brought company.

_ This is hell,  _ she thought unconsciously, as she made round after round with the trays and orders. There were more soldiers who were barking out demands in French, and she struggled to keep up. And still, that same soldier kept his eyes on her all day.

By evening of the third day, Larsen ran out of beer. 

“ _ I’m sorry, we are all out of beer _ ,” Kristina gasped, unsure who she was talking to; her mind was a blur and still spinning, her body still unsure which direction she was facing and which particular person to focus her eyes on.

“Then bring out the wine!” a voice fired back in response. The other soldiers chimed in, roaring in laughter. She turned around and around, trying to focus on that one particular person who had given that order. More orders, some perhaps actual, some perhaps echoes, rang in her ears as she teetered her way over to Larsen’s corner, unaware that he was making his way towards her.

“Hey, Kristina, are you alright?” Larsen’s voice hazily reached her mind.

“I-- I’m… not--”

Larsen could she her figure totter once more, before finally collapsing onto the floor.

“Kristina! KRISTINA!”

He walked with greater hace towards Kristina’s figure, unaware that the group of tysks had also paused in their merry toasts and conversations and were now silently watching him. Larsen turned Kristina over; she was knocked out.

He was also unaware that one of the soldiers had gotten up and was also walking to where they were.

“As tu besoin d'aide?”

Larsen looked up. It was that French-speaking soldier again, and his glassy blue eyes reflected nothing but worry. Larsen shrugged; he still did not know the French language and cared less on what the soldier wanted from him. He tried to pick up Kristina.

“Ici, laissez-moi vous aider.” The soldier knelt down and supported her other shoulder, and with effort, the two of them managed to lift her onto the chair of an adjacent booth.

“Garde-la tranquille!” he ordered, and the soldier took something out of his pocket. A small package, from what Larsen could see. He began to open it, and Larsen could see what seemed to be a powdery substance.

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE!” Larsen shielded Kristina with his body. The soldier’s eyes widened as he instinctively jumped, spilling some of the substance onto the ground. “KEEP AWAY FROM HER!”

The soldier shook his head silently and recapped the substance. “Je suis désolé,” he whispered. 

Before Larsen could even react, he felt a stinging blow against his forehead. The soldier’s image steadily came out of focus, overtaken by darkness.

xxx

 


End file.
